


This Seed of Arcadia

by katrinajg



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:13:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/570084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katrinajg/pseuds/katrinajg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"On the surface, I once bought a forest. The parasites claimed that the land belonged to God, and demanded that I establish a public park there. Why? So the rabble could stand slack-jawed under the canopy and pretend that it was paradise earned. When Congress moved to nationalize my forest, I burnt it to the ground. God did not plant the seeds of this Arcadia - I did." -Andrew Ryan</i>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A back story on that forest. Pre-Bioshock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Seed of Arcadia

June 21st 1944

_A Million Dollar Forest,_

_Several hundred hectares of pristine Cottonwood forest have been recently purchased near the US/Canadian border in North Dakota by industrialist, Andrew Ryan. While the acquisition of land is nothing new for Mr. Ryan, these 345 hectares have caused a large uproar from three particular environmental special interest groups; Free the Trees, Earth United, and Peace on Earth (POE). All of whom have been attempting to purchase the land as part of their wildlife conservation programs._

_All three groups advocate against the private ownership of forested land, believing that the state should preserve them for all to enjoy. These beliefs are considered to be held by a minority of Americans, however it is rumoured that POE –the largest of the three- may have the ear of a Senator now. Who could possibly swing some conservation legislation in their favour._

_The previous owner of the land in question is a Mr. James Trylock. When the land went up for sale, POE managed to raise the pricey 1.2 million dollars and put a bid in on the land. At the time, no other offers had been made, but Mr. Trylock refused to sell the land to some '...iconoclastic environmentalists.' When Mr. Ryan came along with the purchase price, Trylock wasted no time in signing the land over, an action which ruffled many of POE's feathers._

_Then just last week a reporter from the Standard cornered Mr. Ryan outside his uncle's -Viktor Orlov, owner of Orlov Steel- offices for a comment about POE. The group wishes to purchase the land from Ryan, who out rightly refused to consider selling the land or making it into the wildlife preserve that POE is advocating for; saying that: '...my hard earned dollar purchased that land and if I wish to clear cut it then that is none of your business.'_

_While Mr. Ryan may be quite right about that, if POE does indeed have a senator's ear then not even the great Andrew Ryan and all his hard earned dollars could stop the government from seizing the land. And his current refusal to negotiate or even to speak with representatives from POE may just make their case. Mr. Ryan may want to rethink his silence on the matter, if only to keep his land._

_-Josh Parker, contributor for the Standard_

Andrew Ryan threw the newspaper down on his desk in disgust and stood. Never had a single acquisition of land caused that much excitement or annoyance. Since purchasing the land just short of a week ago, he's had nothing but phone calls and letters on the matter. As if it was his fault Trylock wouldn't sell to those _environmentalists_.

With long, even strides, Ryan crossed to one of the office's floor length windows. 

They showed New York's spectacular sky line (a true triumph of man) but in Ryan's current mood, he did not see it. All he could see was the corruption, nearly blotting out any triumph the city claimed. It was seeping out from every crack and crevasse, covering everything, everyone in a choking aura.

Even in this tall steel and glass building Ryan could not escape it, and despite all his success he could feel it creeping up around his neck, threatening to swallow him and everything he had created. He was so close now and nothing would stop him from making his way to the bottom of the ocean. Not even the war.

“Mr. Ryan, your 10:30 appointment is here; a Mr. and Mrs. Erickson.” Miss Little -his uncle's secretary- said through the intercom, breaking him from his black thoughts.  
With a frown Ryan walked back to the desk, as he pressed a button on the intercom he tried to recall why he was meeting with them. It was something that his uncle had set up.

“Send them in.” He spoke coolly, and did not bother to wait for the woman's response as he walked back to the window.

The office of Viktor Orlov was designed to be impressive as well as overbearing, as if to say to anyone daring to enter its space: “you have been judged, and found unworthy”. The desk sat at the far end of the room, forcing the visitor to walk the length of the room in order to be in polite speaking distance. Ryan's uncle enjoyed watching people stride the length of the room, establishing his dominance without ever having to say a thing.

Orlov rarely spent anytime in the office nowadays, much less the building, so Ryan thought of the space as his own. And while he felt the overall effect was oppressive, the length of the office was the one thing he found useful. The stride of a man says a lot about him and his state of mind. The Erickson's stride began as confidant and determined, but quickly faded as the length of the room took its toll.

“Thank you for seeing us Mr. Ryan, we understand you're a busy man.” Mrs Erickson spoke first. Ryan did not turn around.

“We have been very anxious to speak with you, even more so since reading the article in the Standard this morning.” She must have brandished a copy of the newspaper as he heard the rustling of paper.

“What my wife is trying to _politely_ say is that this article is an outrage!”

Ryan heard the man slam the paper down on his mahogany desk, the noise echoed for a moment. It was a clear attempt to re-establish some manner of dominance that the office and Ryan's dismissive stance had taken. Ryan might have smirked at the childishness of that action if his time wasn't been so atrociously wasted by this. 

“You want to clear cut that forest? There are animals and trees there that are-”

“Found all across this country?” Ryan cut in and turned away from his view to face the couple. “For the record, Mr. Erickson, I am not clear cutting _my_ forest.” He paused a moment, debating whether or not to take that statement a step further. Ryan decided it would be better to have it out in the open now, rather than for it to be twisted later. “The removal of some of the trees is however, necessary.”

Mr. Erickson was dressed in a cheep and poorly cut suit that hung loosely around his slender frame. Ryan guessed it wasn't something he wore with any frequency, and it made him look a lot like a petulant child.

“Necessary? For what? The removal of even one of those trees is an incalculable loss to the ecosystem!” Mr. Erickson's voice was a barely contained shriek, and his wife grabbed his arm to quiet him. He shrugged her off.

Ryan casually placed his hands behind his back. “And what happens when lightning ignites a fire or a blight destroys one or hundreds of trees? Is that also an 'incalculable loss'?” He kept his tone calm and indifferent but he was already tiring of this discussion. He could feel a headache forming behind his eyes and he was craving a cigarette.

“Those are natural causes. Surely your not comparing your felling of those trees to something God chooses to do?” An incredulous note crept into Erickson's voice.

Behind his back, Ryan's hands clenched, it was the only outward sign of his irritation.

“Is that truly the work of God? If all things were His creation, do you not think He would preserve them? Prevent natural disasters? Cure diseases? Help the needy or punish the wicked? I see no evidence of God, rather the clutching hand of the Vatican preying on those foolish enough to believe in an invisible force.'

“The Lord's plans and workings are a mystery, that does not mean that we-”

“A typical response from one who blindly follows _faith_.” The last word was spoken with great disgust.

That barb stuck home, and Erickson was getting ready to say something he was likely to regret, but his wife placed her hand on his arm again, and this time it stayed his response.

“Please Mr. Ryan,” she said. “We still have the purchase price of the land. Is there no way we could reach an agreement?”

He looked at them intensely for a heartbeat. “You're from POE?”

“We are Paradise on Earth. My wife and I formed the group.”

Ryan mused on this for a moment. It was not the first him his uncle had interfered in business of his, but it was the first time he was so underhanded about it. “The land is not for sale.”  
“Not for sale to us, you mean,” Mr. Erickson said, bitterly.

“Mr. Erickson, I care little for your cause or why you want the land. You have plenty enough money to purchase an area of land else where.” Ryan held up a hand when the man tried to interrupt him. “As long as the land and the forest that sits upon it are mine, I will do as I please with them. And until I am finished, the land is not for sale. To anyone,” Ryan stated and turned back to his window. A clear indication that the meeting was at a close. Behind him, Ryan could hear the man sputtering in indignation.

“There is more than one way to obtain a forest, Mr. Ryan.” Erickson said vehemently and began to storm out of the great office.

“This country would be better served if you used that passion to kill Nazi's instead of trying to save a few worthless trees.” Ryan heard their footsteps falter for a moment, but they soon recovered and continued on. No remark was made to his comment, and Ryan suspected that the man's wife had something to with it. If only his secretary had as much sense.

“Mr. Ryan,” the intercom buzzed, “Mr. Mason is here to see you.”

Through the intercom he could hear the angry voice of Mr. Erickson and what sounded suspiciously like laughter.

Ryan strode to the desk. “Send him in Miss Little,” he said and then he grabbed the two newspapers on the desk and threw them in the trash.

He looked up in time to see William Mason striding through the large oak doors of the office. The man was smiling and shaking his dark haired head. In his hands he held several rolled up pieces of paper; the surveying results.

When Mason reached a reasonable distance from where Ryan stood, he spoke, “You have some talent for pissing people off Ryan, two minuets alone with you in one of your moods could make the most holy of men want to hit you.” Mason chuckled lightly at Ryan's frown. “Although I'm sure you'd enjoy that, even if you did end up with a black eye! But of course there are these other times, when I swear given the chance you could talk the Queen into giving you the Crown Jewels,” he stated with a laugh.  
Ryan sighed; it was admittedly hard to be in a foul mood around his chipper engineer. “It is too bad then, that this talent never works on you.”

“Why the devil do you think I'm here working for you? You had me talked into it in a minute flat, and we hadn't even discussed pay!” Mason exclaimed lightly and unrolled the papers on Ryan's desk. Ryan gave a small reluctant smile and stepped up to view the map.

“So we drilled in the areas that you suggested, and every site had excellent geothermic potential (I haven't any clue as to how you do that, by the way) but this site here,” Mason pointed to one of the circled areas on the map, “had the highest numbers. I suggest that we set up the test there.” Ryan nodded in agreement. “I've already started shipping the parts for the Core, they should arrive with in a week. Once on site it shouldn't take more than three weeks for my boys and me to get it up and running. Then we ought let it run for about a month. That'll get us our projections as well as allow for any kinks to be ironed out.”

“Excellent work, as always Mason,” Ryan said warmly and stepped away from the desk. He was silent for a moment, and Mason waited patiently for the man to speak. “I need you to cut the time assembly time down. Two months is too long. The project may come to trouble. Is it possible to shave a week or more off the assembly time?”

Mason rubbed his cheek with one hand. “It's _possible_ , but it'll mean double shifts.”

“Tell your men that I'll double their pay if they can get it constructed in two weeks.”

The engineer smiled. “For that much we could get it done in a week and a half.”

“Excellent.” Ryan held out his hand and Mason grasped it. “Contact me when construction is nearly finished.”

\- - - 

August 15th, 1944

“Don't you nutters have anything better to do?” Mason shouted at the POE protesters lining the dirt trail up to the construction site.  
POE had caused nothing but trouble since they took up signs, and while there wasn't any more than thirty of the Paradise on Earth pains, they had slowed the construction of the Core by two days.

“At least it's built now,” Mason muttered to himself. “Nothing they can do about that anymore.”

Andrew Ryan was scheduled to visit to the construction site that afternoon to witness the initial firing up of the geothermic core. Today was going to be the first step in a grand plan, and Mason hoped that all went according to plan. He parked his truck at the site and hopped out. There were a few last minute things that needed to be done before Ryan arrived, and though he could delegate them Mason would feel better if he did them himself.

He was yanking his tools from the bed of his truck when he heard someone shout his name. Turning he saw Jim Masterson trotting up to him.

“Boss, uh... we've got a situation...”

“What? The Core?” A note of panic crept in to Mason's voice, they could afford no more delays.

Masterson shook his head. “No, no. Nothing like that.. But it's, well.. you should see for yourself, boss.”

Mason sighed in relief and cast a quick glance at the Geothermic Core before placing his tools back in the truck bed.

“Well, lead on then.”

On the far side of the camp, where the forest grew the thickest, there were a number of large, wide trees. When the area was first cleared the plan was to fell two hundred yards more of that part of the forest. However it was quickly ascertained that the clearance around the Core was fine and so the trees never came down. However, they still bore the marks of trees meant to felled. That was likely the reason this situation had come to be.

The POE member, that had managed to strap himself to one of the larger trees, undoubtedly thought that these trees were meant to be felled. If he had half a brain he would have realized that no logging trucks had come out of the site in weeks. Mason nearly groaned aloud when he saw the site before him, Mr. Ryan would not like this.

“I will not let you cut any further into this forest, this piece of God's earth!” the man strapped to the tree cried. His shouts directed at a small group of workers gathered at the site.

“To afraid to say that with out a tree at your back?” one of the workers asked sarcastically.

The man was unaffected by the barb. “The Lord lends me His strength thorough His creation.”

“I'll show you the Lord's strength..” another worker threatened as he walked toward the man, fist raised.

The situation was quickly getting out of hand.

“Boys!” Mason shouted and all the men present turned to face him. He walked through he group until he was standing in front of the POE representative strapped to the tree.

The man turned his attention to Mason, seeing that he was the leader of the workmen he said, “I see these trees and the marks upon them. I will not let you destroy anymore of them!”

Mason pointedly looked the strapped man up and down, with a small smirk quirking his lips, “And how exactly do you plan to do that while your strapped to that tree?” Then he thought of a better question. “How did you come to be in that position anyhow?”

The man looked slightly flustered, but he brushed by the last question. “That.. isn't important. What is important is that you can't cut this tree down while I'm here, you could kill me in the process and there are laws against that-”

“There should be laws against stupidity!” one of the workmen shouted, interrupting the man's clumsy diatribe. The rest laughed.

“And as long as I'm here you can't continue your destruction of this forest!” The man finished passionately. Mason and his men chuckled at him. They found it hard to believe that he would sacrifice his life for a goddamn tree.

“There are also laws against trespassing,” a low, forceful voice said from behind them, and all laughter died.

Mason and his men turned to see Andrew Ryan standing at the edge of the group, an expression of cold contempt on his face.  
In the hot August air, Mason swore the temperature around them dropped several degrees. Ryan stepped forward until he was at the head of the group, his crisp charcoal suit absorbing the sunlight.

“Tell me,” Ryan started, placing his hands behind his back, “what exactly do you hope to accomplish with this protest? I see no food or water near you, and now that you've made your presence known, I can assure you I will ensure no one else trespasses on my land. None of these men will help you, and your friends down the way have the authorities to deal with now.” He paused a moment, allowing that information sink in. “You are alone, strapped to a tree that belongs to _me_.”

The POE member was silent in the wake of what Ryan said, and started to look worried about the position he had placed himself in. He did not appear to have an answer to the question that Ryan had posed.

“I though as much,” Ryan stated coldly and turned from the man. The small crowd of workmen quickly parted before Ryan as he walked away. “Mason, how soon before the Core can be started?”

Mason threw one last look of pity at the POE member and caught up to Ryan. “There are just a few things I want to go over before we begin. That won't take more than a half an hour.”

“I'll be down dealing with the authorities, inform me when you are ready.”

“Of course.” Mason agreed as he and Ryan parted ways.

\- - -

September 4th, 1944

When Ryan arrived at the office several weeks later, at his usual time of eight-forty in the morning, he was surprised to find two men in the office that he thought of as his own. One who was familiar and one who was not. It was not until he was nearly at the desk that his uncle noticed his presence.

“Ah, Andrei, I did not hear you come in. Silent as ever I see,” his uncle said with fondness when he heard the soft click of Ryan's shoes.

Viktor Orlov was a tall burly man, with greying hair and slight Russian accent. He commanded a sense of respect, but seemed incredibly out of place in his expensive wool suit. Unlike his nephew, who's suits always seemed an extension of himself.

Ryan looked from one man to the other before setting his plain leather briefcase on the ground, next to the desk. “Uncle, I did not know you were coming in today.”

Viktor side stepped his nephew's veiled enquiry with the introduction of the man next to him. “Andrei, this is Robert Lennex; Aid to Senator Glenville. I do not believe you two have met.”

Lennex stepped forward, hand outstretched. “It's a pleasure to meet the driving force behind Orlov Steel, Mr. Ryan.”

Ryan let the man's hand hang in the air for moment, then in a fluid movement side stepped the Senator's Aid in favour of one of the chairs in front of his desk -as his uncle had claimed the one that sat behind it. Lennex dumbly retracted his hand, as if he had never been witness to an act of rudeness before.

“There must be something of importance you wish to discuss if you have come in at such an early hour,” Ryan said as he crossed his legs, looking at his uncle.

"Yes, Mr. Ryan there is. Your uncle is concerned about the incident that occurred at your most recent acquisition,” Lennex explained as he too took a seat. His tone just this side of irritated.

“And what incident would that be?”

“Do not play the fool!” his uncle snapped, all good humour gone. “The man who is a member of that nature group, he is suing this company for compensation for the suffering he experienced at your forest site.”

“Any suffering he experienced he brought upon himself,” Ryan replied.

“He spent two days tied to that tree without food or water until your man Mason took pity on him and released him,” Lennex said in an incredulous tone.

Ryan's jaw tightened. “You act as if I was the one who tied him to the tree.”

“No, but you all but ordered your men to let him suffer. One of the workmen on site is willing to testify on behalf of that man. This is serious, Mr. Ryan.”

“This is not the kind of publicity we need. Your purchase of the forest was controversial enough, but this...” Orlov shook his head and sighed. “This is why Lennex is here, the Senator is willing to _discretely_ help us with this situation.”

“No,” Ryan growled.

“No? We are offering our aid here, Mr. Ryan. You would be wise to take it.”

Ryan turned his steady gaze upon Lennex. “So that you can gain a foothold in that which I've created without ever doing any work yourself? You must think me a fool.”

“Only a fool turns down help when he needs it, Andrei.”

“I do not need help.” Ryan stood from the chair and walked past the desk to one of the large windows.

“It is not up for debate, this situation needs to be resolved. I will not have this company's name slandered because you were too stubborn to accept help.” 

“You have no authority to interfere, everything is in my name, not the company's.” Ryan said without turning around.

“I can see we are getting no where,” Lennex said and rose from the chair. “You may want to talk some sense into your nephew, Viktor and soon, we may not be able to help after too long. No, no, I'll see myself to the door.”

For several minutes the only sound was the smart clicking of Lennex's shoes against the polished wood and then the door softly shutting. Neither Orlov nor Ryan spoke. 

The tension in the room grew as both men refused to break before the other. Finally -something that happened more frequently these days- Orlov spoke first.

“You are too stubborn these days.” He sighed. “I know you have no love for the government, any government, but if you do not seek help you may lose this time.”

“And if I do, you will throw me to the wolves?” Ryan asked, though his tone was not judgemental.

There was only the briefest moment of hesitation before Orlov spoke. “To preserve what we have built, yes.”

\- - -

September 15, 1944

Mason Mason arrived back in the city to give the numbers and estimates on the Core's energy output in person. After it's initial firing, all electrical equipment on site was run through the Core, with plenty of kilowatts to spare. His figures and projections showed that this single geothermic core could provide energy for a city of ten thousand people, including the industries that were needed to make Ryan's underwater city self reliant.

That's not to say that they did not had set backs, but better here on the surface instead of forty fathoms under the sea. Only two days after the Core was up and running a magma surge evaporated the pump's water supply and fused several of the parts. Luckily Mason had been prepared for emergencies and had doubles of the Core's inner workings. It took two days to replace all the parts and put together a make shift valve system to close when a surge in pressure was detected in the lines.

After that incident a few more minor problems occurred; one of the spokes on the Core's turbine loosened and was rattling. All the water had to be drained and Masterson volunteered to crawl into the Core's dome and tighten the spoke. Shortly after that the power output dropped to nominal levels for three days until they discovered that some of the wire casings had been scorched in the magma surge and had reached their last legs; exposing the copper wire to the water, which shorted it out.

All those incidents happened with in the first two weeks of operation, after that it was smooth sailing. The Core worked amazingly well.

The same could not be said for their experience in the nearby town of Bathgate. It had been their hub for this project; the men slept and ate in the town, until the POE protesters moved in. POE had been banned from stepping foot on Ryan's property, but that didn't stop them from making Mason's and his men's life miserable on public property. Mason wasn't sure if he had ever been so unwelcome in a town before. It had only taken a week for those loonies from to turn the entire town against them. Finally Mason just decided to live on site, and his men followed suit. It was not as if they were short of electricity.

Now that he was back in the city, all Mason could think about was the Core. He put Masterson in charge of taking care of it while he was away (the man was more than capable) but he still could not rest easy being so far away.

Ryan wanted an update, final figures and projections in person; he would not be satisfied with a simple phone call. (Not that Mason could get into town to make a call.) The month of testing was nearly up, soon it was going to be time to pull up shop, rework the Core and get it ready for its journey to the seabed. 

So here he was, notes and papers in hand, riding the elevator the last few floors alone, hoping that nothing terrible was happening while he was gone. When he stepped out of the elevator he told Ryan's secretary he was expected and the woman started at him for a long moment before informing her boss that he was here to see him.

Mason stepped confidently through the office's double doors the instant he heard Ryan's voice on the intercom and strode the God-awful length of the office. As usual, Ryan was standing next to the large windows that sat behind the desk. Sometimes Mason wondered if he ever sat at the desk.

“That woman's a nightmare. Are you ever going to get rid of her in favour of something that has a personality?” Mason asked by way of greeting.

Ryan turned. “She's my uncle's secretary.”

“So that's a 'no', then.”

Ryan simply raised an eyebrow and walked over to the desk. Mason took the hint and spread his papers on the mahogany surface.

“Other than those first few incidents, we haven't had any trouble with the Core. And those POE protesters may have been a blessing in disguise since it gave us the opportunity to test the electrical output first hand.”

Mason immediately regretted his choice of euphemism when Ryan pointedly stated: “God had nothing to do with that.”

He just smiled and shook his head knowing he's walked right into that one. “Projections for power output are excellent, and I have no doubt that Core will support all the things we've discussed, and more.”

“How many?”

“Ten thousand people, and industries.”

Ryan nodded, satisfied with the numbers. Ten thousand people was far beyond what he expected to have in the beginning, but room for growth was important.

“All that's left is to make some improvements on the Core and get it ready for a deep sea di-”

Mason was cut off by the opening of the doors, or rather the forceful shoving. In strode a man of average height and a crop dark blonde hair. His dark suit was obviously expensive and his gleaming shoes clicked smartly across the polished hardwood.

“Mr. Lennex, it is customary to wait until I am free before barging in, uninvited.” Ryan's low tone cut clear across the room.

“Your secretary was absent, so I just let myself in. I didn't think you'd be busy.” Lennex barely spared a glance for Mason before turning his attention back to Ryan. “I thought I would do you the courtesy of informing you personally that the Federal Government is seizing your land in North Dakota. You have two week to remove all equipment on site.” The man smiled in the most infuriatingly smug way before continuing, “Also, I wished to see the look on your face Mr. Ryan when I said, you should have accepted our help.” Lennex then turned on his heel and strode out of Ryan's office.

Mason watched as Ryan's face hardened, but he did not appear to be surprised at this turn of events. Mason was, he was very fucking surprised. How in the hell could the government justify simply seizing that land willy-nilly? This was a severe infringement upon Ryan's rights.

When Lennex slammed the double doors behind him, Ryan turned to Mason and spoke with the force of all his authority. “Get back out there immediately. I do not want any piece of the Core left behind for them to take.”

“Absolutely, Mr. Ryan.”

“I will send the trucks out to the site twelve days from now, so you had better be finished by then.”

Or else.

“We will be.”

Ryan dismissed him with a wave of his hand and Mason all but ran out of the office. He paused at the empty secretary's desk to place a call to the inn at Bathgate. The inn's owner was the only member of the community that was sorry to see their business leave. Mason was fairly sure that he could rely on the man to relay the message to Masterson that deconstruction of the Core was to begin immediately.

He was just hanging up when Ryan's secretary appeared at his arm and began squawking at him for using her line to make a call. It was the most the woman had ever said to him at one time. He was beginning to think he'd never get away with out a brow beating when Ryan's voice sounded out from the intercom.

“Miss Little, you're fired. You have until noon to clear out your desk.”

For one wild moment, Mason thought Ryan was psychic but when he glanced over at the office's doors, he noticed that in his rush he'd left them open. As the elevator doors cut off the sound of her protests, Mason couldn't help but smile.

\- - -

September 27, 1944

The drive from the airport had been made in silence. 

Mr. Ryan had never a man who prattled on about anything; sports, weather, or even the financial market, but he always observed polite necessities when he met with his driver, George Bell. Bell had been chauffeuring Ryan around for eight years now, ever since Mr. Orlov had handed the company reigns to his nephew. Before that Mr. Orlov had been chauffeured by Bell and when the two men switched positions, Ryan had become his newest passenger.

At first, Bell had to admit is was a little awkward as he hadn't been informed before hand. Mr. Orlov was a charming, talkative gentleman. He was the kind of man you knew started out poor and now that he had money hadn't forgotten where he'd come from. His hard work and talent had brought him from the gutters to wealth. Bell had enjoyed working for Mr. Orlov.

That was not to say that he didn't like working for Mr. Ryan, but he was the complete opposite of his uncle. Mr. Ryan presence immediately commanded respect. The moment Bell laid eyes on him in the morning he stood a little straighter and used his best vocabulary. 

Mr. Ryan's words, movements and manner were all precisely economical, he never did or said something that was meaningless. Mr. Ryan was never rude and rarely short with him, and on those days that he was, Bell always suspected that they hadn't been a good ones.

This was one of the few times that Mr. Ryan required some semblance of secrecy and he had Bell flown out a few hours a head of him to obtain a car. Forgoing hiring a chauffeur service gave Mr. Ryan more privacy as to his location and gave him a head start on the media. That was especially important lately, it was hard to pick up a paper without reading some combination of 'Andrew Ryan' and 'POE' in the headlines.

It was rather unfortunate about the seizure of the land out here in North Dakota. Personally, Bell didn't know why a bunch of trees were so important –they could be re-grown after all. He read a story in the Standard about the seizure, but other than the fact that Mr. Ryan's land was about to be taken by the government, Bell didn't believe a word it said. If there was one thing he'd learnt in service to Mr. Ryan, it was that everyone seemed to have the wrong idea about the man. The simple fact that he cared nothing for his media image lead to all kinds of wild stories; ones that were never proven, but never refuted either. 

So Mr. Ryan's silence on the drive out from the airport was not unusual. It was the underlying current of rage that was worrisome. Two days from now the land would belong to the Federal Government, and Bell wasn't sure why they were out here now. This was only the second trip Mr. Ryan had ever made out this way. The first time was to view some machine and now this. Bell didn't think Ryan was sentimental over losing the land, but it had to be something big to drag the man away from his busy desk out into the middle of nowhere.

\- - -

Well this was it. The last few pieces of the Core were currently being loaded on to the last truck of the day. Personally, Mason was proud of the swiftness in which the Core had been deconstructed. He wasn't sure if they would have finished in time if Masterson hadn't already gotten the message and begun draining the Core of its water. But all that mattered now was that they were done.

Mason looked away from the truck when he heard the distinct sound of a car halting on the site. He was surprised to see Andrew Ryan exiting the car before his driver got around to open the door for him. Mason was just beginning to wonder why Ryan was even at the site when two helicopters thundered overhead. It was a bona fide Kodiak moment. Ryan was walking up the hill to the site as the two helicopters approached and flew over his shoulders. The man had the most amazing timing... what was with the choppers?

Ryan stopped next to Mason and glanced at the last few pieces of the Core. “Once the last pieces are loaded inform your men that they may have the rest of the week off. I will see you in New York on Monday, Mason.” He continued up past the trucks and headed toward the forest.

Mason watched him go, unsure if he should say something about this whole fucked up situation. In the end he settled on silence. When Ryan disappeared into the trees, Mason turned to Masterson and told him to tell the rest of the boys that they may leave, and to enjoy the rest of their week off.

“I'll make sure this stuff gets loaded,” he said. “Go spend some time your fiancé.”

Masterson grinned. “Thank you sir, I will.”

\- - -

It didn't take long for the smell of gasoline to hit him. He never found the smell of the fuel to be offensive, but after that day he changed his mind.

Ryan stood a few yards in from the artificial edge of the forest and looked up at the tree canopy. It was truly magnificent. In another life he may have built a retreat up here. However as it was, he was going to have to settle for a mental picture of this beauty before it was destroyed. It was a shame, but a point had to be made.

He stood for a moment longer -taking in the sights, sounds and smells that would likely take decades to recover- before turning and leaving the way he entered. Ryan was pleased to see the last cargo truck pull away with final pieces of the Core. The sight was now empty, save for Mason, who was just getting into his own truck.

When he was far enough away from the edge of the forest, Ryan pulled a short wave radio from his coat pocket. Depressing the button he spoke two words to the helicopter crew at the other end.

“Burn it.”

As was his philosophy in life, Andrew Ryan never looked back.

Weeks later when the fire crews _finally_ got the fire out, they found, near the site where Andrew Ryan had cut a section of the forest down, a blacken sign. It was crude in its design and pounded halfheartedly into the soft ground. The message painted on its front was nearly unreadable for the ash, but it was cleared away enough to make out a statement.

_Paradise unearned is no better than ash. Here is yours._

**Author's Note:**

> When I originally wrote this piece a year or so after the release of Bioshock, I had never read Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. It was this game and my love for the character, Andrew Ryan that encouraged me to read it. (It is the best and most enlightening book I have ever read, and will likely ever read. It gave words to concepts which I understood and valued but was unable to name myself.) The bulk of this piece bears similarities to that book out of sheer coincidence and a understanding of Ryan's character (which is based on John Galt). Now that I've read Atlas Shrugged, this piece has more deliberate homages to that book (if you've read it you know what I'm talking about) and I understand more things about the Bioshock world in general.
> 
> No infringement is intended on Bioshock or Ayn Rand.


End file.
